


Not Just Stories

by skripka



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, Vampires, creatures of the night, stories, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 17:23:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19024483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skripka/pseuds/skripka
Summary: Hey, does that make me Buffy?





	Not Just Stories

The fight ended as abruptly as it had begun, the creature collapsing into a pile of dust with a small "pop."

Mitchell huffed, swept the dust off his pants, and took a step backwards, shaking his head to clear it. "Whoof. Don't jump in or anything, Daniel."

"You're the muscle; fighting strange creatures with pointy teeth is the muscle's job." Daniel's forehead wrinkled. "That was weird, though. I guess the stories had to come from somewhere." He turned back to the inscription on the plinth.

Cameron blinked. "Stories? What stories?" He wasn't feeling at all tired, surprisingly; except for an itchy spot on his neck, Cameron was feeling pretty pepped. He scratched the itch and blamed the adrenaline. Seemed like a good idea, right?

Daniel looked up and squinted. "Stories. Vampires. Creatures of the night." He made little bat wings and flapped them at Mitchell. "You know."

"Oh, that." Cameron looked at the pile of dust, then back at Daniel. "Seems pretty dumb to have wooden pointy things in your lair if you're a vampire. Hey, does that make me Buffy?"

The sound Daniel made could have been described as a grunt by some cultures, but there was a distinct undertone of _in your dreams, flyboy_ , and _how did i get stuck with this one again_ , and _it could have been worse, it could have been vala_ mixed in there.

Cameron itched at his neck. He was getting hungry, and was starting to wonder why it was feeling warm in here. "Hey, is it hot or is it just me?"

"Just you," muttered Daniel, scribing a few more notes in his notebook. He looked up at Cameron and frowned and squinted at the same time, turning his face into an interesting shape. "Something wrong with your neck?"

"Itches." Mitchell shrugged. "You done, there?"

"Just about." Daniel came around the plinth, and squinted at Cameron's neck. "Did that thing bite you?" His finger pressed against the itch and Mitchell jumped back.

"Ow! How fast have you been writing?" Come to think of it, besides being very, very hot, Daniel's wrist actually smelled ... delicious. 

_snap out of it, mitchell. daniel and delicious are two words that fit in no man's vocabulary. except perhaps general o'neill's_... Cameron snapped down on that thought before it went anywhere court-martial-able.

"Well, shit." Daniel was thumbing through his notebook. "You're going to have to stay here while I radio SGC."

"What? No!" Disagreeing with Daniel was more a habit than anything else. "Why?" Damn. He was really getting hungry now, and the MRE he had packed seemed less appetizing than usual. Daniel's wrist, on the other hand... _s. t. o. p._

Daniel seemed to catch the drift of Mitchell's wandering mind and took a step back, wary now. "Um. You seem to have been infected."

"What? No!" So he was repeating himself. So what? "Isn't there supposed to be a sucker-suckee thing going on?"

"Well, that's the thing, those are just stories." Daniel shrugged. "Reality is different. We should be used to that by now."

Cameron sighed, grimaced, and sat down on the floor. "Crap. You think they can fix it, back home, I mean?" He itched his neck again. Huh. Daniel's ankles weren't too far from him now...

Daniel shrugged, breaking Mitchell's reverie. "I hope so. In the meantime, uh, well..." He grabbed his pack, stuffing the notebook in the front pocket, and backed towards the door. "...uh. Stay in the shade and away from the pointy things." 

He fled, and Cameron was all by himself, with a rumbling stomach and an itchy neck. Not his best day ever.

"Oh, hey. I can be Angel, instead!"


End file.
